The key to solving inflation, immigration, crime, fentanyl, gay marriage, abortion, sex trafficking, and transgender people using restrooms is simple:
We must investigate Hunter Biden.
I know what you’re thinking: what does Hunter Biden have to do with any of these real and imagined problems the ascendant Republican majority promised to address? Isn’t this just another case of the GOP leveraging the optics of a fight against a mythical dragon? And aren’t they more interested in fundraising from sheep who are scared shitless of dragons than in actually killing the non-existent beast?
WRONG. Hunter Biden is thepre-eminent threat to your family’s safety, security, and bathroom privacy. He’s coming for you, unless the Republicans can stop him. And they can’t stop him without your $27 recurring donation. Unless, of course, you want them to tell Donald Trump that you didn’t care enough to help.
Recently, a deranged Canadian immigrant attempted to upend the government of the United States by means of violence. I mean, a deranged Canadian immigrant other than Ted Cruz, though that would have been a solid guess.
No, I’m talking about a different cuckoo Canuck, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to write his name here and give him the publicity of my 17 followers.
It means I’m self-made. Everything in my life was crafted from three simple ingredients: my two hands and a lot of hard work. I won’t take any guff from a communist like you who relies on “big government” for sustenance. If you don’t like the way I live, then fuck you and the horse you rode in on.
My horses? Self-fucking-made, chief. I personally tracked down and bred two wild horses to create my own horse. Once my pony was old enough to ride, we galloped into town—which, incidentally, I built while waiting for my horse to grow up—and we gathered raw materials. God’s green earth provided its splendor in the form of wood, iron ore, naturally-occurring copper wires, and shag carpet. Oh, and six day laborers from Guatemala.
The act of “canceling” people is as old as civilization itself.
Sometimes we canceled people via exile. Sometimes it was through removing their heads from their bodies. But the reasoning was always the same:
You did something that badly compromises our community’s shared values, so you gotta go.
Before humans started divvying up the hunting versus the gathering, we already had the basics of a limited social contract. It went something like this:
“What’s up, fellow hominid? Here’s my offer: in honor of the fact that you look vaguely similar to me, I won’t kill you when you turn your back. In consideration thereof, kindly don’t kill me when I’m not looking, either. Sound good? Kthxbye.”
My dog, Lemmy, isn’t much of a problem solver. He’s a
world-class problem announcer,
Lemmy’s definition of “problem” ranges from “someone rang a
doorbell on TV” to “someone rang the actual doorbell.” In other words, my dog
is a redundant doorbell. And unlike my actual
doorbell, Lem Lem shits a lot. My actual doorbell hardly ever shits.
I’m just kidding. I don’t have a doorbell. This blogging
thing doesn’t pay doorbell-having money. If you want to see me in person,
you’ll have to knock on my door. I won’t answer it, but to be fair, I also
won’t answer it if you push the spot where the doorbell button is supposed to
be. Lemmy will flip the fuck out either way, though. Your move, Knocky.
“Problem announcing” has much less value to society than problem-solving. That’s why Lemmy still lives with his mom and dad at 28-dog-years-old: his complete lack of marketable skills.
Every year, the Kennedy Center Honors are awarded to
venerable artists in the United States for lifetime achievement and impact on
I check my mailbox once or twice a year in the hopes I’ll be recognized. Truth be told, I really just want a cool rainbow medallion. I could probably save a lot of time and money with a trip to Michael’s, versus all that “honing my generational talent into a marketable craft” crap. Not to mention I could stop checking my mail outright. I never get anything, except Bed Bath & Beyond coupons and angry letters from debt collectors. Exactly how do you propose I catch up on my bills when Bed Bath & Beyond has such great deals AND an extra 20% off? It’s a vicious cycle. Get off my back, Visa.
Plausible deniability is a crucial component of any ongoing violation of laws or norms. If you’re going to intentionally engage in nefarious deeds, you have to have your story straight for when the eventual scrutiny (such as, let’s say, impeachment) comes.
That which you are straightening is indeed a “story” because
it is, by definition, not a true reckoning of whatever
drug deal you’re up to. It is at best a quasi-believable
version of events that counts on the listener giving you the benefit of the
doubt. At worst, it’s a thinly veiled lie.
It’s human nature to categorize things, recognize patterns, and extrapolate missing data. Actually, it might be better described as animal nature.
My dog Lemmy uses process of elimination to determine where I hide the treats. He might do so clumsily, checking the same spot two or three times en route to crossing it off his list. But he’s definitely categorizing and extrapolating, ham-handed (maybe ham-pawed, as it were) or not.
Lemmy utilizes basic cause-and-effect to recognize that giving me “sad puppy dog eyes” will nab him some of whatever I’m eating. Incidentally, both of us have the same favorite cuisine: people food. Maybe he cuts his losses with hard-nosed Mom, and doubles down on Dad. He notices a pattern: Dad is more easily swayed to part with the scraps.
For decades, our country’s love of football has crossed political, socioeconomic, and generational lines.
And by “football,” I mean the game played on a gridiron with a prolate spheroid inflated leather ball. The athletic contest that requires gladiatorial equipment to protect the players from gruesome injuries. The sport where the players incur gruesome injuries anyway when they’re hit by people in gladiatorial equipment. The spectacle that’s played in North America and literally nowhere else…except of course when we trot it overseas to play in front of wide-eyed people with no earthly clue as to what is happening on the field. The game George Will once perfectly described as “violence punctuated by committee meetings.” Continue reading →